


never want to close my eyes

by Die_Melodie



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Character Death In Dream, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Die_Melodie/pseuds/Die_Melodie
Summary: Credence has a bad nightmare.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadowlight28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowlight28/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Shadowlight28! You wanted something cute about Newt and Credence - I miiiiight have gotten a little carried away with the idea of nightmares, so not sure how cute this turned out to be, but it's still h/c! Hopefully you enjoy it at least a little.
> 
> And a big thank you goes to Alice, who gets credit for half of the idea behind this. <3

_"Sit still, would you, honey?" his mother says. The endearment slips from her lips easy and warm, the way it never did when she was – when she was – "Stop fidgeting."_

_"Sorry," he whispers, but he can't help it, can't help recoiling when she touches the razor to his cheek: cold, sharp metal against bare skin._

_"Credence!" her voice is just as cold and just as sharp, and when he flinches again he can feel the blade cutting into his skin. "Look what you have done."_

_"Sorry!" he's shaking now, trying to turn his head away, but she grabs him by the chin, forces to look up. The razor is bloody in her hands, trails of blood running down from her fingers to her wrists to the immaculate white cuffs of her blouse, soiling them with crimson._

_"Look what you have done!"_

_He fights to pull away, to stand up and bolt, but his hands and legs are suddenly tied to the chair, and his mother is right there in his face, spitting curses that make him want to close his ears and curl into a tight ball, but he can't, he can't –_

_"No!" he yells, and something inside him snaps. "No!" and the ropes fall to his feet, undone. His mother jerks back, fear flashing in her eyes, but it's too late: the razor is already in his hands, and she's screaming now, screaming so loud. He doesn't mean to do anything: he just wants to make it stop, but his hand moves on its own accord, and a warm splash of blood hits him in the face when the ugly sound of her screaming is cut off at an even uglier sound –_

Credence wakes up with a choked gasp, covered in cold sweat and shaking. His heart is racing, his entire body feels like it's on fire, and he can still taste copper on his tongue, overwhelming, everywhere.

It hasn't been this bad in a long time. When he first came to live at Newt's house, Credence used to wake up every night shaking with terror, but those times have been past them for a while now. He still gets nightmares, but now he also has other, nicer things to focus on, and there are entire weeks when he walks around happy, content, and everything is all right with the world.

This is very obviously not going to be one of those weeks.

Gripped by panic, his mind barely registers what his body is doing: dimly, Credence is aware of getting out of bed, pushing the door open, rushing down the dark hallway, but he doesn't fully come to his senses until he's banging on Newt's bedroom door, chanting something that sounds like "Please, please" under his breath.

When Newt throws the door open it's all Credence can do not to cry with relief.

Newt is wearing his pajamas, a dressing gown wrapped haphazardly around his shoulders. There is a candle in his hand and a slightly alarmed expression on his face. He's still got that soft air about him that means he has been sleeping, but his eyes are rapidly gaining alertness.

"Hey," he says, quiet but intense. "Is something wrong?"

Credence didn't mean to wake him up. He shakes his head mutely, the back of his neck already growing hot with shame.  

"Hey –" Newt repeats, then cuts himself off and takes a step towards him.

Credence doesn't resist as he is taken by the elbow and led inside, doesn't resist as Newt sits him down on the bed (unmade, still warm) and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. He can't help leaning into the touch, just a little, and wants to imagine Newt's hand lingers when he brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"I was thinking tea," Newt says gently. "Would you like some?"

Tea does not seem like a good idea when Credence can still feel his throat closing up every time he tries to swallow. He shakes his head without looking up.

"All right," Newt says, and suddenly the mattress dips under his weight. Settling next to Credence, he tugs him further up the bed, into a sideways embrace. When he says his next words, Credence can feel them vibrating through his chest: "Will you tell me about it?"

He does. Words tumble out of him, too many of them, like a mad current. He doesn't know if any of what he says makes sense, if Newt can really understand what's been happening in his dreams, but he seems to be humming in agreement, and his arms tighten around Credence in all the most important places, and that's what Credence will remember later: the way Newt is holding him close and tight, like he's never going to let go.

When Credence finally runs out of words, his voice has gone hoarse and he's feeling weak, like talking has physically exhausted him. He slumps against Newt, too tired to do anything but breathe.

That's when Newt shifts and pushes him away slightly, and holds him by the shoulders to look him square in the eye. The look on his face is serious: Credence's heart does a scared jump before he hears the next words:

"It's not real. You know none of it is real, right?"

And the thing is, Credence knows what he means, but he still wants to say, "Isn't it?" The things that he sees in his dreams might not have happened the exact same way in real life, but they have. He's done things that could, and probably have, given nightmares to other people. How can he pretend they are not real?

He doesn't say anything, and Newt's look never wavers. "You and me," he says, "we are real. This house is real, as is the work we are doing together. That's all that should matter."

Credence doesn't think he's right, doesn't think what he's saying is wise, but god, does he want to believe. So he nods, slowly, and is relieved when Newt sighs and draws him back into an embrace.

He falls asleep in Newt's bed, in between soft sheets that smell like his favorite soap and home, Newt's arm thrown over his waist in that subtle but determined way he has of anchoring Credence to reality.

As he drifts off, Credence thinks he feels gentle lips touch the back of his neck, once. He smiles to himself and lets deep dreamless sleep take him over.

 


End file.
